This Isn't Your War
by Reverdy Brune
Summary: What's it like to go home for the summer to a family who doesn't and can't know anything about you? This is a companion piece to It's Still a Fairy Tale, but it works independently. Oh, and this is Jo's world, of course.


The summer Hermione received her Hogwarts letter, her parents had her aunt, uncle, and seven-year-old cousin over for dinner. Her cousin finished eating quickly and wouldn't sit still while the adults talked about politics and Hermione stared at the wall. Hermione told the boy that he could go play in her room if he was careful not to break anything.

Her cousin went rummaging through her wardrobe. Among the jeans, T-shirts, button down white blouses and blue pleated skirts, he found a several sets of plain black robes and a pointed hat. His mother asked Hermione if she wasn't a bit old to play dress-up. No one mentioned that five sets of robes was a bit excessive for dress-up. Hermione was just glad that she had hidden her wand better than her robes.

The next day, her parents took her to the store and bought her a padlock for the wardrobe.

The summer Hermione was twelve, her best friend from her old school came over to her house.

"I missed you," the girl said. Hermione didn't answer. The truth was, she hadn't thought about this girl at all since she became friends with Ron and Harry.

"What's the Academy like?" Hermione asked. The girl launched into a long-winded description of everything about her new school, from the mad old lady who taught her history class, to the cute blonde boy that sat across from her in maths. It took her at least five minutes to notice that Hermione was absentmindedly pulling hairs out of her hairbrush.

"Well, what's your school like then?" the girl snapped.

"I can't tell you," said Hermione, and continued to pull hairs out of her brush. She didn't look up. The girl glared at her, then stomped out of the house. Hermione thought she should have felt sad, but she felt nothing. After that, Hermione didn't play with any of the neighborhood children. The girl had been her only muggle friend.

When Hermione was thirteen, her parents decided to take her to France for the summer. Hermione didn't need to ask them why.

They spent several days in Paris. When they went to Notre Dame, Hermione attracted attention by conversing with what appeared to be thin air.

"It was a ghost," Hermione said brightly, "Only wizards can be ghosts." They didn't go to any more French churches after that.

They tried going to museums, but after Hermione disappeared for four hours into the "wizard section" of the Louvre, her parents weren't keen to bring her to another one.

"But there's so much history here," complained Hermione.

They visited the catacombs, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger were a little confused as to why their daughter, who wasn't easily frightened, jumped and cringed at every noise while they were there. They didn't know the full story of Slytherin's monster. They didn't know about the chamber of secrets.

When Hermione was fourteen, her fourteen-year-old cousin asked her for help with his algebra homework. Hermione had never done algebra before. She stared at the paper for a long time before admitting to the boy that she had no idea how to do the problems. He gave her a strange look and she got up and left the room, scowling.

"It's a shame," her uncle said later, upon hearing about this from his son. "I was sure that Hermione was the mathematician in the family. She could add and subtract before you could count."

When Ron asked Hermione to go to the Quidditch World Cup, her parents were thankful for an excuse to get her away from the rest of the family.

The summer after Hermione's fourth year, she shut herself in her room as soon as she got home. Her parents asked her what was wrong. She didn't say anything, just stared out the window. She came out for meals and to use the bathroom. At night, her mother thought she could hear her crying, but when she went to check, Hermione was always asleep.

When Hermione asked to stay with the Weasleys at Grimmauld Place, her parents didn't know what to do.

"We're worried about you, honey. What's wrong?" Mrs. Granger asked one day in Hermione's room. Hermione turned from the window to look at her mother. Her mother's gaze was all concern. Hermione didn't see any fear.

"You wouldn't understand," Hermione muttered. "I have to go back to the wizarding world." Then Hermione turned away from her mother and stared out the window again.

Mrs. Granger didn't know what else to do but let her go.

The summer Hermione was fifteen, she told her parents about Voldemort. Her mother's eyes went very wide and her father raised his eyebrows.

"But... But he won't come after you, will he? You'll be safe at school, won't you?" her mother asked. Hermione just stared at the carpet.

"That man... Dumbledore, wasn't it? He'll protect you, won't he?"

"He has to protect a lot of people," Hermione whispered inaudibly to the carpet. "He has to protect Harry."

"Why didn't you tell us all this before?" her father asked, sounding hurt. Hermione thought he ought to have sounded more afraid.

"Because... Because this isn't your war."

"It doesn't have to be yours either, does it? You don't have to fight. You could stay here for a year, until the war is over."

"No," Hermione said sharply, "It's my war too. I can't just let the others fight for me. I can't let Harry fight alone."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked at each other, shocked, as Hermione stormed up the stairs to her bedroom. They were not surprised to find a note on the dining room table the next morning, informing them in neat handwriting that their daughter had gone to the Burrow for the rest of the summer.

When Hermione arrived at King's Cross Station after her sixth year, she was still wearing Hogwarts robes. Her parents eyed her nervously and shifted uneasily every time someone stopped to stare at Hermione. Hermione didn't even lift her gaze from the cement floor of the platform.

Hermione didn't tell her parents that Dumbledore was dead. They didn't ask why she was still wearing black robes three days into the holidays. They didn't notice that she always had one hand on her wand inside her robes.

While she was home, Hermione did nothing but read. Her mother peeked into her room while she was in the bathroom. It was a mess of ink, quills, parchment, and stacks of books. Mrs. Granger shivered when she saw the that the title of one was _The Greatest Evil_.

After a week had passed, Hermione told her parents that she had to leave. She didn't leave a note this time.

"Where are you going?" asked her mother.

"Ron's brother is getting married," was all Hermione would say. Her parents smiled. A wedding was something they understood, at least.

"I might not come back, you know," she whispered as her mum hugged her.

"Of course you will," her father said, only half comprehending what she said. "It's only a wedding."

Hermione's parents looked at each other, confused, after Hermione said goodbye with shining eyes and disapparated.

When Hermione was seventeen, she came home and told her parents that the war was over. They smiled and asked her how her last year of school had gone. She told them she hadn't gone to school. She told them that Dumbledore had been killed the year before. She told them about Harry and the prophecy. She told them how close to dying she had been. She told them about the people she had seen die. They stared at her, horrorstruck, for a few moments.

"But it's over now, isn't it honey? He's dead," her mother said, a slight edge to her voice that made it sound like a plea.

Hermione didn't know what to say. She wanted to tell her parents that everything was alright now that Voldemort was dead. She wanted to tell them that, like in the story books, the heroes live happily ever after. She wanted to tell them that it was all just a bad dream that was over now, that she wouldn't relive the nightmares over and over again. Instead, she went up to her room and cried.


End file.
